


Love & War

by NeighborhoodCatGang



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Also Because I Said So, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bato is trans, Eventual Fluff, M/M, Smut, Violence, because I said so, but they will be happy, its gonna be a while, lovers to friends to lovers again, minor discussion of corpses, not sure if it counts as graphic, reconnection, the different varieties of dad energy, the inherent homoeroticism of sparring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:28:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26526745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeighborhoodCatGang/pseuds/NeighborhoodCatGang
Summary: Bato and Hakoda haven't been together for years now, though not for lack of love. Nothing could simply be the same after Kya died.But there's nothing like leaving for war to strip your life back to bare essentials.And there's nothing like fearing for your life to get the blood flowing.
Relationships: Bato/Hakoda (Avatar), past Bato/Hakoda/Kya
Comments: 14
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

The islands on the horizon crawled past at a glacial pace. The air nomads had a temple there, long ago. Before Hakoda was born. Before his mother was born. To his grandmother they had been a vague memory, wiped out before she was old enough to know who they were. It hadn’t been long after that the fire nation had set its sights on the south pole, believing the avatar dead, and seeking to stamp out the next one - or worse. But the air nomads had gone in one fell swoop. The southern water tribes had suffered raid after raid for generations. No matter the method, the end was likely to be the same. Total extinction. Hakoda’s thoughts were grim as he watched the distant, muted peaks slide past. The wind stung his eyes and face, but it had done so for forty odd years now, and was nothing he wasn’t used to. Just like the bleak hopelessness in the back of his mind, and the terrible itch beneath his skin that clashed against each other and spurred him forward. When he was moving, making, doing, they receded. But he was none of those now. He was just standing, staring at the ghost of an entire people as it slid past his eyes, and not even trying not to think that his own people would be next. A subtle shift in the air, a lessening of the sting on his cheeks, told him someone was standing beside him.

“Evening watch soon.” Bato’s voice said, “you going to insist on talking to them, too?”

“I have to,” his own voice was hoarse with disuse. He hadn’t actually spoken for several hours, he realized. “It’s my job.”

“You could also let your second in command do it and take a few minutes to eat.”

“I’ve taken enough minutes.” How long had he been watching the southern air temple? The sun hung low and fiery at his back, ready to slip into the sea.

“And I’d bet my weight in hides that not one was used for eating.” Bato was right, but Hakoda wasn’t going to tell him that. He turned to face the taller man.

“Alright. You speak to the night crew. I’ll be in the planning cabin for report.”

Bato’s mouth, nearly at Hakoda’s eye level he was so tall, twitched into something close to a smile and he held out a bundle of jerky and flatbread. Simple fare, but good nonetheless.

“No excuses.”

Hakoda narrowed his eyes, plucked the bundle of food from Bato’s hands, and stalked off without another word. It wasn’t the first time Bato had gone all mother-penguin on him. It likely wouldn’t be the last. But it always ruffled his feathers when he managed to do it with so much logic. Hakoda could mostly resist and deny and otherwise wiggle his way around emotional appeals, but when Bato was right, he was right, and there was nothing to be done about it. Damn him.

Trying not to feel like a petulant child, he tossed the little bundle onto his bedroll and set about drafting a response to general Huang of the earth kingdom. They had been in communication for months before Hakoda had even left the south pole, but the ever-changing nature of the fire nation’s occupation of outlying earth-states made it difficult to hammer out a solid plan of action. For now, and at Hakoda’s discretion, they would act as a skirmishing force, targeting fire nation supply lines, gathering information, and otherwise making it difficult to maintain or advance occupation. They could stay mobile, avoid head-on combat, and relay any valuable intel to the earth kingdom generals. He was comfortable sorting out the finer points as they arose, but general Huang was either very nervous or very exacting or both, and Hakoda didn’t know how to politely put into writing that a plan with that level of detail was doomed from the get-go. The earth kingdom had many strengths, he reminded himself. Adaptability was just not one of them. Nearly done with his response, he paused to rest his hand and started slightly to find Bato, sitting cross-legged across the cabin from him. When had he come? How long had Hakoda been writing? How did that man manage to move so silently all the time? Even the breeze made more noise than him. He held up a familiar looking bundle and raised his eyebrows. Now definitely feeling like a petulant child, Hakoda leaned forward and snatched it from his hands, then hid it in the front of his parka and pointedly went back to writing. At some point Bato must have left because when Hakoda stopped to seal up the scroll, he was gone again.

Guilt oiled its way into his belly. Without Bato looking out for him, he’d have been dead a hundred times over. He shouldn’t have acted that way. There were a lot of things he shouldn’t have done. Suddenly he felt very heavy. What would his kids be doing? Given the lateness of the hour, they would probably be asleep. Spirits, he missed them. He missed Sokka’s jokes and Katara’s earnestness, missed holding them in his lap at the fireside (though Sokka had grown too big lately and insisted that “men don’t sit in their dad’s lap” anyways). He missed tucking them into bed. Leaving was the biggest thing he shouldn’t have done. Without meaning to, he found himself staring at the marks scratched into the wall. Had it only been three days? Each one weighed on him like an eternity. His son’s face, barely out of boyhood but covered with warrior’s paint, swam in front of his eyes. He hadn’t had the heart to let him sail with them. He had barely mustered the strength to tell him to stay. His daughter’s eyes, wide and sad and reproachful blinked up at him. How was he supposed to do this? His heart and soul, his children, left behind to care for themselves. They didn’t even have their mother. _I’m doing this for them,_ he told himself, _so they can have a future. So they won’t live in fear their whole lives. Not like I have._ He knew he wasn’t the only one. Plenty of the men had left wives and children behind. The atmosphere in his small fleet was a grim one, and not likely to lighten until they reached warmer waters. But he was their chief, and he didn’t have the luxury of indulging his aching heart. So Hakoda wiped his eyes, hardened his face, and rose to send general Huang’s letter. 

♥♥♥

Bato stepped lightly into the planning cabin which doubled as the chief’s quarters. He knew Hakoda hadn’t meant to set himself apart like this, but he spent most of his time either working with the others or in this cramped, cluttered space and it just made sense to toss a bedroll in the corner and camp out here. Bato had been watching, though, and knew Hakoda wasn’t eating enough. Or sleeping enough. Few of the men were. They had left their homes behind, set out on this mission with uncertain futures, and the pain and fear were nearly palpable. Idly, he wondered how much of it the chief could feel, separate as he was. Hakoda was by no means a fool or uncaring, but he had so much else to deal with. Not only was he coordinating the entire fleet, he also kept the earth kingdom apprised of their movements and intentions on top of determining how best to accomplish their goals. And of course there were Sokka and Katara. That was something Bato shared with him, though the kids had grown closer to Hakoda over the years, ever since - well. He couldn’t love them any less for it. And he would never begrudge Hakoda their bond. In some ways the distance made it easier for him. And he had no one else in the village. But that meant that nearly his entire family was here, suffering before his eyes. So many people he cared about carrying such unfathomable burdens as if they were the only ones to know that pain. Bato could make his rounds, send exhausted men to their hammocks, push food into the numb, shaking hands of the watch, harass and cajole and pour his care out into a never-ending line of empty vessels, but he couldn’t seem to make a difference. It made him feel helpless. But that didn’t mean he was going to stop. So he settled in to wait for Hakoda to return from sending his latest missive to general Huang, and was rewarded when he stepped through the door with a wan but genuine smile and a handful of unwrapped seal jerky.

“Fretting about me again, Bato?” 

“‘Again’ would imply that I ever stop. Good to see you decided to listen to me, though.” 

Hakoda settled in and nibbled vaguely at his food. The sharp, chiseled lines of his face slowly softened into something more subdued. Exhaustion bled into his expression like water creeping through cracks in a stone. It was a look Bato had seen increasingly often on the ship, when the men thought they were alone or no one was looking. Nobody wanted to show that face to anybody else. Not when spirits were so low. Not so soon into the voyage. Something pensive flickered across his face.

“Do you remember our first fishing expedition together? No adults, just us?” He asked.

“Just us idiots.” Bato smiled at the memory. It had been an absolute disaster, nearly twenty five years ago now. “You got tangled in your line and nearly tipped the canoe.” Though Bato hadn’t been without his share of mistakes, as Hakoda was sure to remind him.

“I seem to recall you getting us stuck and having to drag the boat for an hour to an open channel.” At least he didn’t bring up the polardog incident, which was only funny in hindsight.

“It was only half an hour, and it would have been less if someone didn’t have a fish hook in his thumb.”

Hakoda chuckled - spirits, even his laugh sounded tired - and shook his head, “how on earth did we make it this far?”

“Tui only knows, Koda.” He whispered, slipping without meaning to back to the nickname he had used since they were children and Hakoda had stumbled into his house by accident, trying to find his way home after sneaking out to follow a hunting party. Had they really ever been so young? He felt like he had been forty his entire life. He felt even older now. But keeping Koda alive was a habit he had never grown out of. Not even when Kya had been there to help him do it. And certainly not now, when his best friend was straining under the weight of a war they had both inherited. The exhaustion was back, tinged with something like regret. And he still hadn’t done more than nibble on the jerky.

“Koda, you need to eat. And sleep.” Their eyes met and held. Emotions gathered beneath the other man’s expression like storm clouds. Too many to name, certainly too many to hold. Hakoda’s gaze flickered down just a fraction. The lightning struck. He swayed forward, practically fell across the little cabin towards Bato until their lips met over Bato’s startled gasp.

Bato had been blessed with long arms and broad shoulders. They made him a good fighter and sailor, with several inches of reach on nearly everyone else. But that wasn’t why he considered them a blessing. He had cradled countless babies as they wailed; held injured or shaken children in need of comfort; braced angry, uncertain teens looking for an anchor; and propped up exhausted, overwhelmed adults who needed a friend. He had built a home in the circle of his arms, and invited anyone in who needed a place to crash for a minute or an hour. So when Hakoda came crashing down, Bato caught him, wrapped him up and held him close. Except this time there was that kiss. It was unlike any other they had shared over the years - not the tender fumblings of adolescence, or the slow, easy languor of later years, or even the blinding need of young men in love. The pure heat, the desperation in Hakoda’s mouth seared him and he struggled to catch his breath against the tide of it, but he wouldn’t break away. Not when his best friend was clinging to him like the last ice floe in a melting sea. Not when Hakoda was the ice Bato clung to as well. Bato shut his eyes and drew his friend in, steadying their breathing and nestling him down in the bracket of his long legs. Like every tide before, eventually the pressure ebbed. Bato resisted the urge to follow as it receded, to chase the heat like a freezing man pressing too close to a fire. An old, familiar weight settled back onto his shoulders before he even realized it had lifted. 

Hakoda drew in a shaking breath and rested his head on Bato’s chest, “You must think I’m crazy.”

“I think you’re carrying a lot. And I think it feels good to set the weight down for a minute or two.” Nevermind how good it felt to have him here again, folded in close, safe and comfortable in Bato’s arms.

“You’re right. You always are. I hate that.”

“Does that mean you’ll eat and sleep, too?” Bato grinned down at him, sensing imminent victory.

“Don’t push it.” Hakoda grumbled back, but there was no bite to the words.

“I’m not letting you go until you promise,” He threatened, “good luck leading from here.”

“You’re a cruel, scheming-” Hakoda yawned, “-devious man.” He made no promises, though. And no move to get up. Bato reached up and brushed the hair out of Koda’s face. His eyes were closed, mouth sleep-soft, breathing slow and even. Okay. He’d have to work on the eating part later. Almost as an afterthought, Bato pressed a single, delicate kiss to the chief’s temple before resting his own head back and letting himself doze.

♥♥♥

Hakoda woke up alone, with last night’s jerky and flatbread resting on his chest. His stomach growled. _Damn that man for always being right,_ he thought as he stuffed his mouth full of food. What time was it? Had he missed the watch change? Where in Koh’s name _was_ Bato anyways? He got up, stretched, scratched another mark, and went to see exactly how much he had missed. The answer, it turned out, was ‘not much’. The ocean stretched from horizon to horizon, sparkling lazily in the late morning sun. A stiff breeze whipped a few hairs loose from his wolftail. Two of the more nimble men scrambled over the rigging, managing sails on the fly. Another stood at rudder, halfway attentive but clearly not anticipating any changes to course. The activity on deck was too muted to be a bustle, but carried on steadily anyways. Hakoda knew his men were solid, knew he could probably have fallen overboard and they’d manage fine without him, but it made his heart swell with pride to see. A hand fell on his shoulder.

“If I go down to the planning room and find that jerky uneaten on your furs I’m going to throw you to La.” A low voice murmured in his ear.

“I let you take the lead for one morning and already you’re planning a mutiny.”

Bato snorted, then rattled off the morning’s report like he hadn’t just been mothering Hakoda to within an inch of his life. Hakoda nodded. They were set to reach the lower Earth Kingdom islands within a few days. Fire navy activity here was low, but as the temperature climbed, so would the tension. He wondered if it would replace the grim mood of the past three days or just draw it out until it was taut and sharp and dangerous. As usual, he shared the work with the rest of the men, taking his portion of the endless list of tasks involved in keeping a ship upright and moving. That evening, however, as the night watch came to relieve the day crew, Hakoda called a halt. He had sent messages to the other ships and watched as one by one they slowed, furled sails, dropped anchor, and stilled in the water. Each ship set its own small fire on the deck - enough to light and warm the faces of the men, but not so large as to attract unwanted attention. They shared around food and water, talked quietly of their homes and families, and let the tension slowly bleed out. Some of the men cried silently in the shadows before stepping back into the ring of light. Nobody mentioned it. Their neighbors welcomed them back with hands on shoulders and gentle cuffs to the back of the head. Then, in a quiet lull between conversations, the singing began. Everyone knew the songs, knew them in their bones. They had grown up hearing them, sung along before they could even speak, learned the voices of their mothers, fathers, grandparents, cousins, siblings, and entire tribe in those songs. As the first words rasped into the quiet, silence fell. Then another voice joined. And another. More and more until they all sang to the stars of home and family and their pasts and futures. And if Hakoda stepped back from the fire to hide his face in his hands and let his shoulders shake with fear and sorrow for his children, then that was between him and the moon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever sparred with someone you really wanna bone?  
> I have. Its An Experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a while ago I saw this post on The Tunglr that was like "Slow burn except its pwp and the burn is emotional" and I was like "I could probably do that. Lets do that." Except I have no stamina and cannot write smut without overwhelming love. So now its just smut and angst, I guess.
> 
> Also my fiance is having too much fun doing communisms to beta read for me so sorry if I missed any typos.

Bato wanted to kiss the ground. He loved the sea as much as any other man, but had always preferred short expeditions to days and days on the water. He didn’t like the idea of sand in his mouth though, so he set about organizing some runners to find the nearest village and track down whatever supplies they couldn’t provide for themselves. The rest of the men were setting up tents and bickering good naturedly about who would have the privilege (or curse) of sharing with whom and laughing at the others wobbling about on sea legs that hadn’t adjusted to solid ground. They were perhaps not as raucous as they might have been at home, but the pain had receded to a dull throb, the fear turned to purpose, and Bato no longer felt completely hopeless.

“Hey, Bato! Who are you sharing with?”

“Not you, Aldan.” 

“Bato, you wound me!” Aldan clapped a hand to his chest and feigned a stagger.

“I’ll tell you what,” He smiled wickedly, “First man to beat me in a sparring match gets to share my tent.” the young man brightened. “And it still won’t be you.” Aldan and his friends laughed and started placing bets amongst themselves. Bato was a coveted tent-mate because he slept silently, soundly, and completely still. No snoring, midnight kicks to the kidney, or irritated poking to try and get the other person to roll over. He usually just let everyone else sort it out and took whoever he ended up with, but he found it was kind of fun to see just how badly they all wanted a night of peace. And it gave them something to think about that wasn’t completely depressing. Two birds, one sparring tournament. Idly, he wondered who it would be this time, and how many he’d have to fight to find out. He wasn’t necessarily the best warrior among them, but he doubted any of the younger men were quick or precise enough to win a fair fight. More than knowing how to fight, Bato knew as simply as breathing exactly how every part of his body moved through the world. As a child that profound awareness of himself had made him clumsy and distractible. His early teens had been nothing short of torture. But then his father had begun teaching him hunting, tracking, and stealth. And Bato had found that his crippling inability to shut that awareness off was in fact extremely valuable. At fourteen, after two months of learning, he had far outstripped the other boys following along with their fathers or brothers to hunt the more dangerous game. Koda had called him a freak of nature more than once, after watching him go from stumbling, clumsy, and loud to nearly silent as he moved. It was a short leap to transfer that advantage to fighting. He was in his element now, when breaking and entering was their operational bread and butter. Previously, he and two other men had stolen into a fire nation outpost and found a hoard of schedules, supply routes, personnel files, and quartermaster’s requisitions before sneaking back out again, all unnoticed. Tilik had the best mind for numbers so Bato had gone back with him the next night to take everything in before reporting back to the chief. General Huang had not been pleased that they had deviated so far from his structured (rigid, Bato thought) plan for their role, but Hakoda had reminded him that the water tribe didn’t answer to the earth king, their relationship with the generals was voluntary, and the information they had was current and useful to the earth armies. General Ni had taken over communications after that and things had gotten much smoother. Bato ducked into the planning tent and found Hakoda alone, poring over a set of maps with a page of notes crumpled absentmindedly in one hand. He didn’t even look up.

“I hear you're auctioning off the right to sleep with you.”

“Going to try your hand?”

“It wouldn’t be fair to the others,” finally he looked up, the sly grin on his face nearly knocking the wind from Bato’s lungs, “you might throw the match just to screw with them.” Right. Because that was the only reason he might do such a thing.

“Or I might beat you all and earn myself a night of precious solitude.”

“If you beat everyone else I get you by default.”

“You may as well fight then. I don’t plan on losing to any of those kids.” Strangely, this was as close as they had gotten to mentioning their third night at sea in the weeks since. This odd, oblique skittering around the truth seemed to be all they could manage, what with the ever-increasing likelihood of battle, complex strategizing with earth kingdom units, and of course the looming specter of the past hanging over their heads. The intervening years were nowhere close to outnumbering the ones they had spent together, but that made them no less real, their lessons no less poignant. Bato had long since resolved that Koda’s friendship should bring him joy instead of pain, and he saw no reason to change that now. Not for one kiss. Not for one precious night with the man he still loved in his arms.

♥♥♥

Hakoda knew the way Bato fought. He knew from the raids that had plagued their shores, and from countless sparring matches, and still more bouts spent on the sidelines watching. He had spent collective hours tracking the exact ripple of muscle in Bato’s shoulders and the sure, steady placement of his feet. But facing off against him, all sinewy reach and whiplike speed, there was no guarantee that Hakoda would win. They circled each other in the rough ring scratched out on the beach, evenly matched. Length and speed against power and precision. A white crescent of teeth flashed in the firelight, Bato’s shaggy hair and shifting prowl transforming him into something half feral and twice as dangerous across the ring. Hakoda’s face split into his own feral grin, matching him step for step before suddenly testing forward. Bato casually slapped his hand away and made no move to retaliate. He knew Hakoda needed to get inside his reach. He wouldn’t extend until he was sure of a victory. It was up to Hakoda to wear him down, tease him out, and slide in for the kill. He nearly succeeded. It was a close thing - losing to Bato usually was. So was winning, when it came down to it. After a few more tests forward and another circle of the ring, Hakoda let himself drift in just this side of too close. Between one step and the next, Bato was closing the distance, reaching to knock Hakoda off balance. It was exactly what he had hoped for. As he slipped past the hand snapping out towards him, he made his connection right under Bato’s back arm, meaning to use the momentum of the missed strike to throw him into a grapple, then pin him. But he connected too soon and Bato spun on the spot, snapping his feet into place and trapping Hakoda’s elbow so he had no choice but to twist and bend with the pressure on his arm. Hakoda gritted his teeth and searched fruitlessly for an opening as Bato bore him to his knees. The hands on his wrist and shoulder were steel-hard and unrelenting. Bato was too far away to reach without wrenching his shoulder out of socket, but still close enough that the smell of his sweat and the heat of his quickened breathing washed over Hakoda. He swallowed, mouth suddenly flooded at the proximity, the scent of him, the casual power he exerted. That, more than anything, drove him to rasp “yield” before Bato could grapple him into a full body pin.

“I was expecting more of a fight from you.” Bato nudged him as they sat on the sideline, watching two other men spar.

“I know when I’m beaten.”

Bato snorted. “When have you ever. I dislocated your elbow once when you refused to give.”

“I’m old now, Bato. I can’t afford to be that reckless anymore.”

Bato gave him a long, level look, canted eyes glinting in the firelight before saying, with a maddening lack of inflection, “Is that it.” Something flickered behind his eyes, like a creature swimming below the light’s reach, too deep to be seen except by a flash of fin, the hint of coils undulating in the deep. What was that beast? Would he ever see it in the light? Or was it just the shadows cast by the fire?

“You beat them all anyway. No need to hurt myself when you're already mine.” The tension broke. Bato laughed.

“Koda, you need to watch your phrasing. A man might get his hopes up.” He had a point. That was maybe not the best way to say it. But Bato’s tone was light and his familiar easy smile had reappeared. Some part of Hakoda’s brain - the sensible part, probably - flashed up a warning at him as he found himself grinning back.  _ Danger!  _ It called, _ Too Close!  _ He fought it down. This couldn’t be dangerous, could it? To just sit and talk? But then the breeze shifted, and carried with it the smell of wood smoke and - he had to leave. Muttering something about retiring early, he fled to the planning tent. That part of his mind was right. If he wasn’t careful, he may well find himself trapped in that same magnetic pull that had drawn him to Bato in the first place. He could feel it beginning already, if he was honest with himself. He’d never been very good at being careful. And he couldn’t stand the quiet pool of stillness around his friend, his easy smiles, the sharp, enticing smell of his sweat-sticky skin. He wanted to disturb that peace, wade into the pool and haul to the surface the creature swimming in the deep, make frantic waves, batter himself against the immovable rock that was Bato. It was easier to drown in maps and diagrams and endless letters than in that infuriating tranquility. Before too long, the characters began to blur beneath his eyes and reading became too much of a struggle to continue. Hakoda stared longingly at the white continent splashed across the bottom of the largest map. Home. Without really meaning to, he pressed his thumb to the spot where his village lay, where his kids would be sleeping. His mind always drifted to them at night, when everything else slowed down and there was nothing left to occupy it. Thinking of them hurt, like a giant pair of hands slowly pulling his ribcage apart. But putting them out of his mind was not an option. So every night he succumbed to memory and hoped that sleep would come quickly. Too late, the sensible part of his brain pinged another warning. He already knew this was a poor hiding place. Of course Bato would come looking. But nothing in the world could have prepared him for the vision that stepped through the flap of the planning tent.

♥♥♥

Bato was naked to the waist, despite the chill of the night, hair slicked down to his head and still dripping down his back. He had loosened it from its tail to rinse in the nearby stream as he washed the sweat and sand and weeks of stress from his skin. Of course Hakoda wasn’t in the tent. That man wouldn’t rest unless threatened. Or, well, he had seen how well threats fared last time. Irritated, he slapped open the flap of the planning tent. The stern “go to bed” died in his throat at the sight of the chief, kneeling over the spread of maps, staring up at him with that same terrible, bleeding raw look in his eyes. He looked wrecked. His hair fell in loose, random strands from its tail. His tunic had slipped loosely open over his chest. The shadows under his eyes seemed almost as black as bruises. Frown lines gouged through his brow. Bato didn’t know if he had ever laid eyes on someone so desperately unhappy. They stared at each other for a few, ragged, fraying seconds before Hakoda hung his head, whispering a curse to the ground.

“Koda,” Bato crossed to him, offering his hand over the papers laid out between them, “come sleep.” The other man hesitated. “I’ve seen every one of those reports and not a single one needs your attention tonight. You will sleep or spirits help me-” he couldn’t keep the irritation down. Oddly, that seemed to sway the chief in his favor. Finally, he took Bato’s hand and hauled himself up. Bato didn’t let go as he walked to the tent, heedless of how they might look in their respective states of undress and dishevelment. He held on even as he kicked his bed roll open and knelt in the center. Only once he had pulled Hakoda down onto the soft mat, still wire-tight and miserable, did he peel his fingers away. It did not escape his notice that Koda’s hand twitched after his, fingers flexing in his lap as he stilled it with apparent effort. It was happening again and they were powerless to stop it. His friend would crumble in his hands and he would be there, waiting to catch the pieces and stitch them back together. Turning his back was as unthinkable to him as not driving recklessly forward was to Hakoda. Bato reached up to untie Hakoda’s hair and gently ran his hands through it, loosening the tangles until they no longer snagged at his fingers.

“Don’t be the chief. Just for a few hours. Just for tonight. Set it down, Koda.”

“It’s not being-” Hakoda’s murmured protest died halfway through as Bato carefully untied his loosened belt, then smoothed his shirt back into place. He couldn’t fail to notice the way Hakoda leaned into his touch as his palms skimmed over his chest. That was how it had started last time. He remembered watching his friend tumble towards him in the little cabin on the ship, thinking how badly he had let him down that he would crumble like that. Could he hold him together this time? Build him back up before he broke again?

“Bato, your hair.”

“It’s fine.”

“Don’t you  _ dare _ do this to me while you forget yourself.” Bato jerked his hands back from where he had been re-tying Hakoda’s belt, startled by the ferocity of the rebuke.  _ Do this to me?  _ He stared, trying to make sense of the words, as Hakoda undid the belt again and shrugged out of his tunic. He glared at Bato before prowling around to sit behind him and gathering his still-dripping hair into the dry folds of his discarded shirt. For all his apparent anger, his hands were gentle as he dried each strand, then combed his fingers through much the same way Bato had. He got up and stalked out of the tent, muttering curses to himself about ‘tranquility’ and ‘moonforsaken henpecking.’ Bato supposed that was progress. It was certainly better than he had expected. Hakoda stalked back in, shirt missing, but carrying his own bed roll, which he kicked open so close to Bato’s they nearly overlapped. Bato re-evaluated his opinion as Koda sat. He still looked miserable, just with more irritation thrown in. Served him right, irritating as he was his own damn self. No, Bato couldn’t sincerely think that. Nobody deserved that. Least of all Hakoda. He opened his mouth to speak, but was forestalled by a raised hand.

“If you tell me to sleep one more time, I swear I will do something… inadvisable. I’ve been watching, too. You are always the last to bed, the last to eat, and the first to help out anywhere else. And I love that about you. I really do. But what are you not setting down, Bato?”

♥♥♥

Hakoda held Bato’s gaze, determined to wrestle an answer from him if it took all night. Finally, he seemed to gather himself.

“Love?”

“Yes. Of course, Bato. Love.” It was Bato’s turn to hang his head and whisper curses to the earth. The simple vulnerability of it wrenched at Hakoda’s heart. He had thought he wanted to disturb Bato’s peace. He had been wrong. This one small crack jarred him so badly, shook him in ways he couldn’t explain. Had he done that? Could he fix it?

“Kya.” He reeled back at the sound of her name. They hadn’t spoken of her, their missing link, their shattered home, since Bato had moved out. “Koda you  _ know _ she was precious to me. I’ve been trying so hard to keep you-” His voice cracked and he swallowed hard over the last of his words. Hakoda didn’t want to hear the rest. He wanted to smooth his hands over the cracks he had made, knit them together and make them not have happened. “-if she could see how you treat yourself-”

“Bato, stop.”

“-I’m letting you down, Koda.” There was nothing left of his voice to break. Just a raw, desperate whisper into the darkness.

“Bato.” Spirits, there were tears on his face. What had he done? “Set it down,” he reached out and brushed away the tear tracks, “just for a few hours. Just for tonight.” It was so easy to just leave his hand there, to cup Bato’s cheek and stroke his thumb over the sharp jut of bone. He grounded himself in the contact, let the last of his irritation fall away. There would be no more of this tonight. They wouldn’t be the chief and the second until morning. The broken man and the one tasked with repair. They would just be Koda and Bato, whoever they were. Stripped, vulnerable, and aching, but together. “I’m so sorry. Come sleep.” It was easy - nothing at all, really - to slide his hand again through Bato’s hair, to gather him close and press kiss after kiss into his forehead, his temples, the bridge of his nose. It felt like breathing, the way Bato melted over him, thoughtless and natural and life-giving. He drank him in, lapped him up where he spilled over, inhaled his breath like it was the only air in the world. Even clean, the smell of him was attractive, magnetic. Hakoda lost himself in the feeling of Bato’s hands on his waist, and the hot, close air that feathered over his skin. Then Bato shifted, and Hakoda’s next kiss landed on his lips, and he came crashing back on a bolt of lightning. His skin crackled and hummed, flaring hot and electric wherever they brushed together. He felt his stomach drop and his cock stir and knew this would not be the chaste encounter of weeks prior. If he kept kissing, if he got any closer, there would be no avoiding the truth. But Bato was pulling at his waist and it was just so  _ easy  _ to slide forward, straddle his thighs and lick hungrily into his mouth. He paused, panting. There had to be some sanity. He had to be sure.

“Bato, I’m-”

“I know. I can feel.”

“And you want-”

“Yes, Koda. Don’t make me beg.” Bato wrapped long arms around his waist, pulling him flush against his chest and slotting their lips together again. Hakoda buried his hands in Bato’s hair and kissed and kissed until he couldn’t breathe anymore. He bit at Bato’s lower lip, teasing it out and smiling at the hiss he got in response. Bato’s hands roved up and down his back, spreading slow fire in their wake, making him groan and rut into his lap, his erection thickening between them until he was fully hard. It had been so long since he had touched anyone like this - even let himself want like this. He stared at the flush in Bato’s cheeks, the pulse that beat visibly in his neck, the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He wanted to touch every part of him - taste his sweat and his breath and his voice. He set his mouth to hot, smooth skin, feeling as much as hearing the rumble of pleasure in Bato’s throat. It made his cock flex and drip, the way Bato opened to his touch, softened under the heat of his hands. He had to get out of his pants. They would be a mess before long and he wouldn’t be able to wash them. But he couldn’t bring himself to let go, to stop running his tongue over Bato’s collarbones or squeezing the tight muscles of his back or simply just kissing him, slow and deep and longing. In the end it was Bato that laid him back, stretched him out and unlaced him, hands sure and steady as they slipped his pants down his hips. Hakoda felt the barest flicker of doubt - lying there, overheated, hungry, and blindingly aroused - it was too much, too strange and familiar at once. Was it even possible to return to this after everything? But then Bato’s hands burned across his skin again and wasn’t that the whole fucking point? To feel this good? To lean into the pleasure and forget everything else for just a little bit? He touched Hakoda like a dream that came slipping into his mind before he had even known he was asleep, subtle and inexorable, fingertips ghosting over his skin then smoothing gently into the rub of his palms. But even as Bato’s hands skimmed up his thighs Hakoda wanted more. The rough, sweet drag of his callouses whited the world out only for an instant, and Hakoda was aching for him again. His hair, his teeth, the scars across his chest, every inch of him. Maybe it would be too much - too intimate - to lie together the way they used to, face to face, chest to chest, legs woven together like they’d never need to walk again. He wanted it anyways.

“Come back. Come here.” He caught Bato’s bicep and tugged gently. Bato followed obligingly, settling beside him on one elbow, the other hand resting flat on his stomach. When he leaned in to offer another kiss, his body swayed forward and pressed into the length of Hakoda’s side, lean and sharp and blazing hot. Hakoda closed his eyes and let the feeling wash over him as Bato nuzzled gently into his neck, tucking delicate kisses below his ear and stroking him with a firm hand. He felt so raw at the contrast of those two points of contact, the one tender and secret, the other bold and demanding, and the line of Bato’s body connecting them. He barely realized the tension building under his skin until it broke, a wave crashing over him, and he came onto his own chest. Propped up on one elbow, Bato gazed down at him, long hair tossed back over his shoulder, eyes shadowed and unreadable, mouth unbearably soft.

“What is it you want?” He murmured.

“Right now?”

“At all. Ever.”

“What did I tell you, Bato.” Hakoda was too tired, too loose and warm and tingly to put any force behind his words. But damn it, he was doing it again. He was forgetting that he existed, too. “Let me- I want you to feel good.” He ran his hand up to Bato’s chest, paused to feel his heartbeat, then pushed, knocking him off balance and onto his back, and rising to take a similar position himself. “Please.” Bato untied his own laces and let Hakoda slide his pants down far enough to slip a hand between his thighs. He watched closely as Bato’s eyes slid shut and his lips parted around a low sigh. Carefully, delicately, he parted the soft folds there to slide a finger between them and feel exactly how wet he was. Without even pushing in, he found his fingers slick enough to trail back up to the knot where he knew it was most sensitive and rub in slow, leisurely circles. He watched hungrily as Bato bucked under his hand, seeking pressure, trying to speed him up. But Hakoda refused. He may have come quickly when it was his turn, but he was going to take his time here. With the same leisurely pace, he reached back down to where Bato was practically dripping for him - not entering, not yet - just resting there.

“Koda, please-”

“Don’t make you beg?”

“Just f- ah!” He cut off as Hakoda slipped his middle finger inside and crooked it upward.

“Feel good?” Bato nodded, rolling his hips for some friction. “Good.” He added another finger, loving the way Bato fucked down into his palm, the slick heat inside of him, the way his breath rushed out in a series of gasps. He gave a few more thrusts, pushing deep before withdrawing again to return to his slow circles. Hakoda watched with greedy eyes as Bato’s spine bowed and his thighs flexed and flickered. He picked up the pace, listening to the increasingly ragged sound of Bato’s breathing, then slipped back inside to finger him again.

“You fucking-” Bato growled as he writhed, searching for the release that Hakoda wasn’t letting him have. Hakoda silenced him with a kiss. Just a little longer. He was enjoying how clearly Bato couldn’t get enough, how badly he wanted it, the gasps and muffled curses pulled from his lips on every downstroke of Hakoda’s bent fingers. He began rubbing circles into that perfect knot of pleasure again. He watched Bato’s core tighten and heard his breathing go shallow and this time didn’t stop as Bato clamped one hand on his wrist and the other over his own mouth and came apart, fraying into a shuddering, gasping mess. Hakoda waited patiently for Bato to catch his breath, open his eyes again, look up at him. Then he leaned down to kiss him, just as deep and hungry as before, as he pushed back inside to feel how tight he had gotten, tense and shaking still from orgasm. He sucked in the moan that rumbled from Bato’s chest, and continued fucking hard with his fingers until the hand on his wrist tightened and pulled him away.

“Spirits,” Bato smiled up at him, shivering slightly, “you know how to treat a man.”

“I almost didn’t.” Hakoda admitted. “It’s been a long time.”

“Did you think you’d forgotten?” Bato snickered. “How many times have we slept together?”

“I figured it out eventually.”

“I’m going to write to the council of elders and tell them they elected an idiot.”

“Still don’t know why they did that.” Hakoda chucked, too, and within seconds they had both dissolved into helpless fits of laughter, trying in vain to shut each other up before they woke the whole camp. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its the angst chapter.  
> Bato is good at breaking and entering. Not so good at doing feelings.  
> Hakoda is good at planning and directing. Also not great at the feelings.
> 
> The Southern Water Tribe responds to any kind of danger with aggressive application of the buddy system. I'm sure that won't cause any problems at all ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and Chapter 2 were supposed to be a single chapter but they kind of got away from me because I was uuuuuhhh narratively stalling on actually hurting the boys.  
> I shouldn't call them boys. They're older than me.

Finally, thank the spirits, the world had fallen into some semblance of a routine. Weeks ticked past and then blurred together into a stream of sailing, fighting, sneaking, camping, and sailing again. During the quiet times, the men would spar to keep their skills sharp, though hope quickly faded that anyone could actually call Bato on his promise. Every night he wasn’t on watch or running a mission he spent in Hakoda’s tent. It surprised him, how simple it was to slip back into their old intimacy. To sleep curled around one another, wake up soft and tangled and sneak a quick kiss before leaving the tent. It required no discussion, or perhaps it brooked none. After so many months Bato was loath to break his silence, in case it would break the arrangement, too. The fleet stayed mobile, hard to predict and harder to track. Hakoda had split them into three forces that wove across earth kingdom territory, never in the same place, never with the same mission, and never appearing to move in the same direction. Each group coordinated separately with the earth kingdom’s generals, which took some work off the chief's plate, but he still kept watchful eyes on their whereabouts, missions, and the status of the men. Bato knew that by rights and any other sensible measure, he should have been leading one of the teams. But Hakoda had kept him at his side, setting Ketan and Kenoa the task instead. His official reasoning was that the other two were leaders of their own vessels and worked well with their teams, making them natural choices without having to split up established groups or transplant anybody. His private reasoning, whispered into Bato’s ear long after the sun had left the sky, when they were both half asleep and all boneless, was very different.

“I don’t know if I can do this alone,” he had murmured, nestled under Bato’s arm, soft and vulnerable in a way that nobody else would ever see.

Bato had nodded, unable to speak around the sudden lump in his throat, and pulled Hakoda close to his chest until he could whisper back, “I’m here, Koda. I always will be.” He knew as he said it that he was tempting fate, now that he had something more to lose. But old habits die hard, and this one was woven into the fiber of his life so completely that he might unravel if he had to pull it.

Bato was stalling setting out on the night’s mission. Who  _ would _ want to set this aside for hours of tense, grueling, deadly work? But he had to. And new habits were hard to kill, too, so he couldn’t help but slip another kiss onto Koda’s temple before he went. Tilik was waiting for him at the edge of the woods. He said nothing, but the slight lift of his eyebrows spoke volumes. Bato made a rude gesture and kept moving, fading into the shadows between trees. The tower was not hard to spot. Information never slept, and it glowed like a giant hive of lightning wasps in the night. Security had tightened in the months since the water tribe had begun raiding their outposts, but even the imperial armies were made of people, and people were easy to fool. Twice, the right outfit, tone of voice, and set of intimidating buzzwords had gotten a tribesman in the front door and escorted graciously to the correct wing with nobody any the wiser. That wasn’t the game tonight, though. What Bato and Tilik were after was too well secured to be bluffed and blustered at. Explosives had begun popping up in supply requisitions. Nobody was certain, but general Ni had a suspicion that they were heading towards Ba Sing Se. The fire nation knew they were bleeding information from a thousand small cuts. One giant shipment would be too obvious. Perhaps taking a cue from the very tribesmen stealing their secrets, they were taking a winding, splintered route to get it there. Bato and Tilik’s job was to find out where, how, and when. The two of them clambered up the tall tree where they had staked out the past three nights, learning the watch rotations and putting together their plans. Despite Bato’s stalling they were still early. Three rotations was more than enough time to slide out onto the correct branch, get their bearings, and begin the silent count. Bato tapped Tilik’s hand in a steady rhythm, matching the footsteps of the guards below. After a count of twenty, Tilik dropped onto silent feet and followed at the same measured pace. The next guard passed. Another count of twenty. Bato followed. The way the guards circled left a blind spot as each rounded a corner without looking back. With the door in the middle of the wall it was just a matter of being there at the right moment. However, there were guards inside as well. And though the blind spots remained, they shifted too rapidly for one man to wait for the other. The entire entry plan had Tilik forty steps ahead of Bato, out of his sight, and alone. He just had to hope the young tracker kept his skills and his wits about him. The continued silence on his path was a good sign as he wound his way through the halls, up several flights of stairs, out one window, past the aviary, back in another window, and finally into a dark foyer before an unassuming-looking door. Perhaps it had been efficient for the fire nation to use the same plans for every single information tower when they were built, but now that Bato had the layout memorized, sneaking in was astoundingly simple - if not necessarily easy. Tilik materialized from a shadowed corner and nodded once. The officer had left. The two of them slipped noiselessly through the door and set to work. Unsure of how long they would have, they searched in tense silence. Bato touched nothing until something looked likely. Tilik picked up anything he could get away with. It was that method which got results. He waved Bato over, pointing to a letter folded with a map and cipher sheet.

Bato broke their silence, “Can you figure it out?” he breathed, so close that his words ruffled the other man’s hair.

Tilik shook his head, “Might take an hour or more.” 

“Will you remember?”

Another shake of the head. Bato swore internally. He knew it might come to this. The officer sometimes left for hours, sometimes only minutes. They were pushing the lower edge of truly dangerous territory. But there was a faster way than learning the cipher, and a safer way than stealing it outright. Bato padded to the desk, located fresh paper and a brush and began to copy out the sheet. He didn’t write very accurately, but it was close enough. Catching the thread, Tilik set to memorizing the map and letter. Three lines from the end, the faint sound of footsteps froze them both in place. Tilik slid his papers beneath the cipher sheet and scampered to the door, listening hard. Bato resumed writing, faster now, sacrificing neatness for speed. He folded the originals and returned them to their hiding place, tucking his copied sheet into his belt. His partner was already out the window, and he followed suit, scant seconds before the door opened and the officer returned. Now the two of them faced a choice: wait in their precarious position for several hours until the officer left again and try to carry out their original exit strategy with cramped, stiff, exhausted muscles, or make something up on the spot. It was less than ideal. And with no sufficiently silent way to hand off the cipher, they were each left with incomplete information. The exit plan was very similar to the entry plan; about as safe as breaking into a high-security enemy facility could be, but leaving them separated and vulnerable. Making something up from here meant they could stay together and probably get out sooner, but it ramped up the danger tenfold. Tilik tapped his hand in the same steady rhythm as before. A guard passed below them. Bato nodded, counted to twenty, and they dropped in tandem. He learned that night that it took about fifteen minutes to descend the outside of a fire nation information tower. He also learned that he could seemingly hold his breath for about fifteen minutes, if he was panicking enough. The climb was exhilarating, though. His blood thrummed with terror and triumph in equal measure, pulse racing every time a guard passed, jaw clenched beneath eyes that must have looked as wild as Tilik’s. Finally, after fifteen small eternities, they hit the ground and melted back into the safety of the forest. It wasn’t until they had nearly reached the encampment that the tension holding his partner together finally broke. Tilik stumbled and fell to his knees, trembling violently and swearing under his breath. 

Bato crouched beside him, a steadying hand on his shoulder. “You did well, son. Take a minute to rest.”

“I th-thought we were dead.”

“Me too,” he said, honestly. “Several times.”

“Tui’s eyes I’m falling apart, look at me.”

Bato laughed and pulled Tilik into a hug. An adrenaline crash as bad as this one warranted a bit of falling apart. But Bato was used to holding it together, and they had escaped with their lives and a stack of secrets, which warranted a bit of laughter, too. They returned just as the sun was preparing to break the horizon. Seeing that Tilik was still jittery, Bato plopped him in the sand by the banked fire and pushed a waterskin into his hands. Then he dug out one of the brightly colored earth kingdom fruits from the nearby crates and peeled away its leathery skin, offering half to the other man.

“You’ll feel better after some food. Chief will be up soon and we can give a preliminary report. Then you’ll get some sleep before starting on the code.” They sat in silence for a few minutes. In the stillness and quiet of pre-dawn Bato’s hands finally began to shake. He let them. The fruit sectioned into wedges inside, membranes separating each piece as if they were meant to be pulled apart and eaten one by one. He breathed slowly and pulled pithy strings off of each section before eating it, just to give his shaking hands something to do.

“So about why you were late-” Strangely, Tilik didn’t sound like he was teasing. Or scolding. He sounded - nervous?

“Something on your mind?” Bato had his suspicions, but he was wary of crossing into assumptions, considering his own position.

“Do you think it’s possible? I mean - you have to, right? If you-” He trailed off.

“I can’t read minds, son.”

Tilik laughed humorlessly. “You always seemed like you could. Scared me half to death most of the time.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

“And you’re Umi’s boy, right?” Tilik nodded. Umi was only a little older than Bato. A quiet, steady woman with strong hands and a warm smile. Her husband, Tilik’s father, had died in a hunting accident when Tilik was a toddler. Bato remembered watching the kid get into the exact same trouble he had, but with less direction and more anger, and resolving to keep an eye on him. It made a little more sense now, why he had yelled defiantly and fought tooth and nail when his cousins tried to keep him occupied, but sat quietly with Kya and Bato as they showed him how to weave nets and braid fishing lines. “What do I think is possible?” He asked.

“That we can get through this. Alive. And… happy.”

“You and Aldan?”

“Sweet scales of La, Bato. That’s exactly what I mean about reading minds.”

“I have eyes, kid. It’s not hard to work out. Like it’s not hard to work out why I was late.”

“And do you think it’s possible?”

“Like you said. I have to, don’t I?” That wasn’t really an answer, but Tilik nodded. If he had been honest, Bato would have said that no, he didn’t believe it. At least not for himself. The alive part was questionable enough, though they hadn’t lost a man yet. But he could not make himself believe that there was an end where he and Hakoda got to go back to the south pole, figure out normal life again, and be happy. As comfortable and familiar as it felt, he wouldn’t let himself believe that their silent agreement was anything more than that: a spark of comfort and familiarity to cling to in a dangerous, uncertain world.

♥♥♥

For the fourth time that week, Hakoda woke up alone as the sun broke the horizon and the eerie stillness of pre-dawn erupted into the riotous celebration of daylight. The birds at home were much more polite. But then again, sunrise was a much broader concept in the far south. There were definitely easier things to try and celebrate there. Like food. He shouldered out of the tent and made his way, bleary-eyed, to the crates that served as a kind of pantry. The sounds of men stirring unwillingly into wakefulness began to filter through the camp. Two already sat by the low fire, looking as though they hadn’t slept for days. Bato and Tilik. Right. Those two actually hadn’t slept much recently. They had gone on a mission last night, and by the looks of it, it had gone well. 

“Don’t tell me things yet, I’m not awake enough.” He sat down next to Bato, who offered him a section of fruit, then expertly plucked a piece of bread from his hands. Somebody else may have missed the way Bato’s fingers trembled, but Hakoda didn’t. He was awake enough for that. Aldan arrived and sat next to Tilik, who traded him the waterskin for some jerky and a small smile. More and more men took seats around the fire, passing food back and forth and grumbling quietly about how loud the birds were, how poorly they had slept, aches in their joints, the usual business.

Hakoda put on his chief voice, “Alright, men. You know the drill. Watch changes in thirty minutes. Our spies are back alive, so I’ll need you-” he nodded across the fire at his two best strategists “-for report. Everyone else, make yourselves useful.” Then, as inconspicuously as he could manage, he wrapped a hand around Bato’s upper arm and hauled him to the planning tent. “What happened.”

“I take it this isn’t for official purposes.”

Hakoda scowled. It was too early for this nonsense. “Your hands are still shaking. Something happened.”

“We learned that it’s possible to scale the exterior of an information tower, if you have fifteen minutes and an elk-leopard’s worth of adrenaline, and know the patrol pattern well enough.”

“How in Koh’s name-”

“Yellow flame casts blue shadows.”

“Is that a proverb?” He couldn’t deal with proverbs before noon, at the earliest.

“No. The shadows aren’t black there. They’re all dark blue.” Bato gestured at the dark blue of his clothing, “If you stay between the lamps and don’t move too quickly, you’re invisible. The guards don’t turn their heads unless they hear a noise, and those helmets have no peripheral vision.”

“No, Bato. I mean that that’s at least sixty feet straight up. Of all the risks involved you had to go and throw that one in too?” He noticed too late the pleading note in his voice. Bato wasn’t supposed to do reckless things like that. Hakoda couldn’t handle both of them suddenly being impulsive dumbasses.

Bato’s look was slightly too knowing as he said, “you know I wouldn’t have done it if there was a better way. And I wasn’t alone. Tilik is a capable man.” Then his face split into a grin. “You know what you’re doing?”

“What?”

“You’re fretting.” Bato teased him. “I got to be reckless and now you get to fret about me. How’s it feel?”

“Awful. You do this every day?” Hakoda pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed his eyes up against the headache that was creeping up on him.

“Every day.” Gentle hands clasped his shoulders. “Look, we’re not going to have a real report until Tilik works out the code, and he needs sleep. I’ll go tell the others we don’t need them until this evening. Then you can fret as much as you like.” The pressure on Hakoda’s upper arms vanished, and when he finally reopened his eyes, he was alone again. It wasn’t rational to be this unsettled when Bato was already back safely and apparently in good enough spirits to be making fun of him. But he hated the thought of Bato being hurt or captured when he wasn’t there to help. And that was even more irrational for a number of reasons, not least of which was that Hakoda’s own skill at stealth was nowhere near Bato’s and he would be nothing but a liability on any of those missions. He was still standing in that spot, grappling with his feelings and a rapidly growing headache when Bato returned. Somehow it was even more difficult in his presence. Of course the first thing out of his mouth was “are you okay?”

“Fine.” Hakoda all but snapped.

“I… need sleep, too. I’ll leave you to it.” Bato turned to go and something lurched in Hakoda’s chest.

“Wait don’t-” He almost said the stupid words. He almost said ‘don’t leave me again’ and if ‘you’re already mine’ had walked too close to the truth, then  _ that  _ sprinted straight up and dove in headfirst. “The code. Does Tilik have it?” It was pure luck that Bato reached for his belt and produced a folded sheet covered in scribbles. He could focus on that instead of his outburst. “Get some rest.” He took the sheet and determinedly ignored the way his throat closed up as Bato walked away.

Hakoda had nobody to talk to about this. Everything else, he had someone to turn to for help (usually Bato, just to add insult to injury) but the only person he had ever gone to for help of this kind was Kya. It had been so easy to talk to her about anything. She would smile at him and link her arm through his and listen like his problems were the most important on earth. She listened that way to everyone. She made people feel valued. It was part of what made her such a good chief. And then once the words were done spilling out of him she would fix him with that firm, kind gaze and ask “What do you think you should do about it?” And the way forward would be clear. Or maybe more words would come tumbling forth, but she would listen again, patiently, until he sorted himself out. He never knew why her silence and Bato’s affected him so differently. It had never mattered. Together, they were home.

“Hey chief, we need your help with - oh.” Aldan broke off, drawing up short halfway through the flap of the tent.

“What is it Aldan?”

“The traps.” The young fisherman looked nervous, “but I can get Kuyu instead.”

“Kuyu’s doing repairs today. I’ll go.”

“Are you sure? You really don’t look so good.”

“It’s just a headache. Moving around will help.” He lied. The stabbing pain behind his eyes only increased as the sun climbed the sky. Hakoda pushed himself mechanically through the motions of hauling up each trap, checking its contents, and dropping it back into the depths. His head spun. The fish here were as odd as the fruit. Maybe he could talk to Bato the way he had talked to Kya. The water was strange, too; warm and welcoming instead of freezing and hostile. What if the cracks opened farther? He remembered tear tracks glistening in the dark and the world shifting beneath him. Sand was the strangest. It got everywhere, like snow, but snow eventually vanished. Sand stuck around. He had to live in it now, with the world rocking under his feet and the silence he couldn’t handle.

Just his abominable fucking luck, Tilik worked in silence, too. The tracker evidently napped like a cat and was parked in the planning tent with a roughly sketched map and half a page of scribbles when Hakoda trudged back in. His lips moved as if he was speaking to himself as he wrote, but no sound left them. He could at least have the decency to mutter under his breath like a normal person, but no. It was Hakoda’s choice between painful, angry sunlight, and suffocating, lamplit silence. He sat down, making a valiant attempt at patience, and tried not to think about anything at all.

“Got it!” Tilik’s triumphant hiss startled Haokda awake some time later. Miraculously, he had drifted off while sitting upright. Doubly miraculous was the absence of his headache.

“Figured it out?” He asked, only a little blearily. Tilik nodded. “Good, fetch Bato and the others. I want them here for this.” The young man scampered off, clearly excited at his findings.

The sketched map he had worked from was small, and the five of them huddled close to see where he was pointing. “- a shipment headed east on what they’re calling the fire lily path. If they’re running on schedule - and they usually do - it will pass not far from here the day after tomorrow. This is where they’ll be,” he pointed to an unremarkable bend in the winding road, “and if I had to guess, I’d put us about here.” This time he pointed just off the edge of the paper. “Making it perhaps a four hour walk. There’s an abbey here,” another, closer bend in the road, “that they’ll be avoiding. Potentially exploding a bunch of nuns would be too conspicuous. So the fire lily path goes this way.” The smaller, twistier road led away from their position.

“Is there anything else about the route they’ll be taking?”

“Only this piece, unfortunately.” Tilik shrugged.

“That makes sense,” Bato mused, “they know they’re losing secrets. Keeping the pieces small is a decent method of damage control.”

“What about the shipment? How is it moving? How is it protected?” Kuyu asked.

“The traditional way - wagon and ostrich horses. No mention of the number of guards, but we can assume it will be better protected than regular supplies.”

“Kuyu, are you suggesting we  _ appropriate _ a shipment of imperial blasting jelly for the war effort?”

Kuyu smiled. “Better than letting it get to Ba Sing Se, right?”

“I want a full council on this before we make a move. Nakta, can someone switch with you for evening watch?” The fifth member of their group nodded confirmation and Hakoda adjourned the meeting.

♥♥♥

Night watch sucked, in Bato’s opinion. Watching in general sucked. It was all the slowest parts of hunting with none of the satisfaction. He had made himself vanish in the broad branches of a particularly gnarly tree and almost immediately crashed straight into boredom. It was good that he got to be bored. An exciting watch shift was bad news. But that knowledge didn’t make the boredom easier to bear. Especially when the thought came creeping into his mind that he was here in a tree being bored instead of asleep next to Hakoda. That particular flavor of bitterness was reserved for night watch. Had Kya felt this way when he and Hakoda were gone for several days together? It was difficult to imagine her being bored. Everything she did had a purpose to it, an intention. The world had been hers, from the neat braids in Katara’s hair to the wild storms of winter. She directed it all, guided it with a steady hand. Without her Bato had come completely unmoored, steering a warship with a single oar, trying desperately to find home again.

A shadow flickered into the corner of his vision, yanking him out of his reverie. Bato knew immediately that it was too large to be one of the strange, stealthy, nocturnal creatures that lived here. It moved too differently - aimless, almost. The animals always knew where they were headed. A human, then. He watched the figure cross under the tree, pause, then turn. Bato silently eased along his branch. The figure was looking for something, but hadn’t lifted its eyes. Then it stepped through a beam of moonlight and Bato spotted the wolftail and two braids.

“Up here, chief,” he pitched his voice low, just enough to carry to the ground.

“Tui’s eyes, Bato.” Hakoda pressed a hand to his chest and exhaled visibly, “you look like a vengeful spirit up there.”

“Something wrong?”

The chief scrubbed at his face. “No. Well, plenty. But not with anybody but me.” And what could Bato say to that? So he just patted the branch next to him in invitation and waited while Hakoda navigated his way up the tree.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He tilted his head close so they could whisper almost silently to each other.

“It’s hard without-” Koda stopped. “I’ve been thinking about them. Our kids.” Bato felt like he’d been skewered, pinned to the tree like an eel. The way he said it. ‘Our kids.’ As if Bato hadn’t been stranded. As if he hadn’t left. As if they hadn’t left him behind. He had gotten used to missing them - was inoculated against it. But Hakoda wasn’t.

“It's hard, isn't it?” Bato placed his hand gently over Hakoda’s. The other man leaned his head onto Bato’s shoulder. 

“I’ve been thinking about… her, too. About us.” There wasn’t really an ‘us’ anymore. Not without her. But it was nice to pretend. He buried his nose in Hakoda’s hair and brushed a kiss onto his temple.

“Yeah?”

“I remember coming home late at night. You two would be asleep already, with Sokka between you and Katara on your chest. And I swear my heart would stop. If I was lucky, I could settle in without waking anyone. But most of the time the kids would notice. And you or Kya would wake as well. And I couldn’t even regret it, because I’d get to see you smile at me.” Suddenly the skewer pinning him to the branch was a blade, slicing him open by fractions as he tried to breathe around it. The memory was raw and sharp and bleeding into his lungs; feeling Katara squirm against his chest, opening his eyes ready to feed her or soothe her back to sleep, and seeing his husband standing over them like a guardian spirit, unmoving but radiating love. And their wife beside him, curled around Sokka’s tiny, sleeping form, her breath deep and undisturbed as Hakoda settled down on his other side. That life had broken, and then Bato had shattered it further, and the blade sliced him deeper for it.

Bato took a deep breath. “I remember repairing nets with her. You let Sokka ‘help’ with dinner by stirring berries around in a bowl, and we told him it was the tastiest part. I really thought so, just because of how happy he looked. But Katara cried because she didn’t get to help, so K-” Bato stumbled over her name, “Kya gave her a piece of sinew and told her it was the most important part of the net, and had to be kept safe.” Actually recounting the memory, pulling it from his mind and letting it touch the cool night air between them, felt almost unreal. Like something too precious to exist had escaped his grasp and the world was on the brink of collapse. But it also felt like a balm. The beginnings of a scar around the sword in his chest. Hakoda turned his face up and met Bato’s eyes, a stray beam of moonlight illuminating one of his own. His mouth was drawn tight into a flat, pained line. Bato knew how to soften it. He tucked the braids behind Hakoda’s ear and let his hand curl around the back of his neck, his thumb rubbing lightly over the hinge of his jaw. “They love you so much. More than anyone else on earth. More even than I do.” That was all it took. They were so close already, huddled on the branch with the sounds of the forest hemming them into their own little bubble of silence. There was no telling who closed the space between them, small as it was. Not that it mattered. All that mattered was that Hakoda’s lips were soft under his, the tight cords of his neck softening too as they exhaled together. Had they been anywhere else, Bato would have pulled Hakoda into his lap and made sure to chase the tension from every part of his body. But halfway up a tree was not the best place for that, and Bato was supposed to be watching. So he lingered only the length of another slow breath before drawing away again. Hakoda’s eyes glistened in the darkness as the stray pool of moonlight wavered over his face, deepening the creases around his eyes and mouth, aging him prematurely. He always looked too tired these days, worn out from nearly a year at war. That worried Bato. How much of this life could they stand? But thinking of it like that, as if it were somehow separable, practically begged Bato to consider what a different one might be. What other life might he have, if he could shrug out of this one and change it for a new one? He hadn’t dared go near that subject since Tilik’s question, but Hakoda’s mind must have gone somewhere similar.

“I wish we could go back, Bato. To the south pole. To our home again.” With his hand on Bato’s bicep, and Bato’s still cradling the back of his neck, the pleading look on his face left Bato in no doubt as to what he meant.

“Do you think we still can?”

“Don’t you?”

Bato had lied to Tilik. He could not lie to Hakoda. Not here, not about this. No matter how much it hurt, he could not bring himself to say it. “I don’t know, Koda. It’s- it still hurts. And we couldn’t - after-” He wished he could have lied. Wished it desperately. Because Hakoda’s eyes fell from his and his hand slipped back into his own lap, looking nearly lifeless as he withdrew into himself. Bato let him go, hating that he did, but unable to justify pulling him back in.

“I’ll see you after dawn, Bato.” The chief didn’t look at him as he slipped back to the ground. He didn’t turn to look back before vanishing between the trees. Just as well. If he had, he might have noticed the tears streaming down Bato’s face, the clench of his law against the sob building in his chest, or the whitening of his knuckles where he clutched at the branches around him.

♥♥♥

Hakoda had barely gotten enough rest to be functional on the hike over to the Fire Lily path. Thankfully, Tilik had overestimated the distance. It was only about three hours of walking, which gave them more time to investigate and set up a plan of action before digging in for stakeout and letting the birdsong return to normal. They broke off into their respective ambush sites - all in pairs or in trios - and then Hakoda was alone with Bato. He had any number of sensible reasons for sticking with Bato, despite their last conversation, all of them ready to drop from his tongue the moment anyone asked. But as always the real reason was very different.

He had always loved Bato like this. He had always loved Bato, period. But this, the pure focus, the determination, the relentless patience, had only been for him. They had teased him about it, the possessive streak he could never quite rub out of his personality. But he and Bato had been a hunting pair since boyhood, and however many hints revealed themselves elsewhere, this side of Bato never came out until they were deep in the wild, alone but for their quarry. In their youth more than one hunt had failed because Hakoda couldn’t keep his hands to himself confronted with that silent intensity. He should probably thank the spirits that Bato and Kya had some sense. Without them to learn from, he would probably have been a disaster his whole life. Maybe he had been anyways. The way he had fallen apart when she died certainly made it seem so. The way he couldn’t just let Bato be now didn’t feel like a mark in his favor either. It had taken too long for them to realize, back then, that they had forgotten how to be together without her. Maybe it had been a secret art, washed from their memories by time. Or maybe it had just been another piece of life, blasted from their hands by a man in red and black armor. But they couldn’t fit their ragged, bleeding edges together around her absence to create something whole again. And after too long they had stopped trying. It should have been clear that drifting this close was dangerous - a terrible idea designed to hurt them both. It  _ was _ clear. But just like the nineteen year old with hardly a thought to the risk of returning empty handed, he couldn’t seem to keep himself from leaning in one more time to whisper in Bato’s ear, brush a hand across his back, wade into the pool of silence and see if the other man would react. He didn’t know what he was going to say until the words left his lips, ghosting over loose strands of hair to reach their target.

“I’ll wait for you.”

Bato stiffened slightly, but didn’t break his focus as Hakoda receded. He found he didn’t regret the words as he usually did when he opened his mouth without thinking first. They were true. And the world wasn’t giving him time to think after the fact either. Only minutes later, the caravan came into sight.

Tilik’s guess was correct - the blasting jelly was accompanied by twice as many guards as a supply caravan. Two ostrich horses pulled the covered wagon. Two more were tethered to the back, for rotating in when the others needed rest. No komodo rhinos, a small blessing, but the wagon was flanked by more firebenders than Hakoda had warriors. At their head, on a fifth ostrich horse, rode a man marked by gold trim on his armor and sash. The officer. The air practically crackled as the procession continued, unwittingly running a gauntlet of silent watchers. Hakoda could almost feel his warriors focus as the wagon neared the ambush point. Slowly, silently, he drew in a breath. The world hung, suspended between inhale and exhale. Then the wagon’s wheels crossed the invisible line on the path, and the forest exploded into battle.

The firebenders reacted quickly, turning their backs to the payload and aiming dangerous fists into the trees. But by the time most of them were able to pick a target, it was too late. The warriors fell among them, dropping nearly a third of their number in the first few seconds. Bato swept the feet from beneath one soldier, pushing him so his head slammed into the ground. The soldier didn’t get up, but Bato was already gone anyways. Hakoda sidestepped a fireball and likewise kicked the knee of the bender who had sent it. For an instant he felt a sickening crunch of bones under his foot, then he followed the kick with a blow to the floating rib that sent the soldier sprawling. From the head of the caravan, a blood chilling  _ crack  _ split the air, followed by a horrified cry of “Agni!” as the soldiers broke and fled into the woods. As planned, most of the warriors gave chase, leaving Bato, Hakoda, and Kuyu behind to handle the beasts and the grim task of dispatching downed soldiers. Hakoda saw immediately why the soldiers had broken. The officer lay on the path, his head tilted unnaturally to the side. It was unlikely he got that way by falling from his mount, and Kuyu’s eyes were studiously blank as he checked the bodies nearby. Hakoda silently asked Tui and La to watch over the other man, and turned back to his own work. Just in time to watch the world unravel.

In the edge of his vision he saw Bato step toward a crumpled form. He saw the body twist, and was already in motion as the fist came up. For the second time in as many minutes, time stopped. Too slow. Hakoda was too slow. Bato flinched. Too slow. The fire swarmed up his arm to splash greedily across his chest, devouring fabric and flesh wherever it touched. Hakoda screamed as Bato staggered. For the second time, he felt the crunch of bone beneath his foot, but this time he wasn’t sickened. This time he was furious. Still too slow. Bato hit the ground and didn’t move. Hakoda was beside him in an instant, hands flying over his smoldering clothes, extinguishing every last spark. Bato’s face was a rictus of agony. He choked on a ragged groan and began to cough, which immediately ended in a cry of pain. His agonized curses mingled with Hakoda’s more frantic ones as they tried to get him standing again.

“We have to get to the abbey.” Hakoda levered himself beneath Bato’s uninjured shoulder. Bato’s only response was more swearing. “I know. I know. Please.” A wracking spasm jerked Bato from Hakoda’s grasp and he collapsed again, landing on the injured shoulder. His eyes flew open at the impact, then rolled back. A soft, heart-rending whimper escaped his throat and he dropped unconscious, overwhelmed by his injuries.

Kuyu must have helped him get Bato onto the ostrich horse. Hakoda didn’t know, but how else could he have ended up at the abbey, sliding gracelessly from the beast’s back, easing Bato onto the stretcher fetched by the sisters. Firm hands guided him away. He let them, too exhausted to fight anymore, and crumpled against the wall the moment they let him go. It was fully dark out when he was awoken by a familiar voice.

“-didn’t even make it into a bed. Come on, chief. They exist for a reason.” Aldan hauled him up off the floor and pushed him towards the opposite wall. “Bato will kill me if I let you carry on like that.”

“Bato.” Speaking hurt his throat. Moving hurt his knees. He must have skinned them at some point. He had hit the ground so many times it was impossible to tell when.

“He’s stable. Tilik got burned, too. Though not nearly as bad. They’re both in the care of the sisters.”

“The others?”

“Nothing our own healers can’t handle. Now-”

“And the mission?”

“Tui’s eyes, do you ever stop? Yes. It was successful. Now if you don’t sleep I’ll put your lights out myself.”

“You sound like him.” Against all sense, Hakoda actually laughed. It was excruciating, but he did it anyway.

Aldan snorted and settled down onto another cot that Hakoda hadn’t noticed, “I’ll actually do it, though. He wouldn’t.”

“Don’t bet on that, kid.”


	4. Interludes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snippets from the Abbey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain said "You did the angst! Good for u! Now you will write Two (2) self-indulgent fluffs and One (1) grim snippet about death. As a Treat uwu"
> 
> so 1. I am from Florida and sharing oranges is in fact a love language  
> 2\. Watch me get way too invested in minor characters from my own damn fic about someone else's minor characters  
> and 3. Ask a Mortician is my favorite YouTube channel
> 
> if you don't wanna read about corpses, just skip the third one.

The frustration in Bato’s face was growing more severe by the second. Hakoda had already known he would make a terrible invalid - the man just didn’t have it in him to be less than useful for more than ten seconds in a row. However, he had failed to anticipate just how poorly he would take to being cared for. This time Hakoda didn’t ask, he just plucked the fruit from Bato’s fumbling hands and peeled it for him as they walked. A thundercloud flitted over Bato’s face before he sighed in resignation and accepted the naked orange back.

“Why don’t you ever ask?” Hakoda demanded in exasperation.

“It’s just an orange. I should be able to-”

“Your hand is still more bandage than skin. Just let me do it. Let me help.”

“You help with everything.”

“And you complain about it every time. I know you’re used to doing the helping, but you’re going to have to get used to this for now.”

Bato offered him a section of fruit. “You shouldn’t have to wait on me hand and foot.”

Hakoda took it but didn’t eat. “I don’t.”

“Then what exactly have you been doing for three days? As I recall, you’ve even been present for certain bodily functions that are better left to privacy.”

“Go ahead and manage that with one hand then.” He bit the orange slice in half. It was sweet and juicy and seemed to explode as he chewed it. “But I meant I don’t have to. Is it so hard to imagine that I  _ want  _ to help?” That wasn’t really fair. He could see that Bato was already tired from their short walk to the kitchen and back. Healing was difficult enough without emotional gymnastics thrown in. Hakoda chewed thoughtfully on the other half of his slice as he held open the door to Bato’s room. “What can I do to make it easier?”

Bato sagged back onto his cot. “Put up with my complaining. And keep reminding me.”

“So you’re just gonna be a pain the whole time?” Hakoda teased, swooping in to grab another slice before they all vanished.

“Afraid so.” Bato chewed slowly, savoring his last piece. He looked up as Hakoda stepped even closer, fitting himself neatly between Bato’s splayed knees.

“I think I can handle that.” Hakoda lifted the final orange slice to his mouth and bit off half. He saw Bato’s eyes catch on the bead of juice that spread over his lower lip, stinging slightly where it was still chapped. He watched them track the motion of his hand as he lowered it, then flit back up to his own. Their gazes tangled messily, haphazardly, as Hakoda tried to convince himself of what he was doing and Bato waited, stricken, for his decision. Then, gently, he touched the last piece of fruit to Bato’s lips and felt his stomach flutter as Bato closed his eyes and accepted his gift. He stroked his thumb across Bato’s lower lip, collecting the matching droplet of juice that quivered there. Then, because Bato’s eyes were still closed, and he was leaning ever so slightly into the touch, Hakoda bent and pressed that spot again with his own lips. Bato tasted like oranges and the strange tea the sisters gave him to numb his burns, sweet and slightly bitter. There was nothing familiar about either flavor, except that they came from Bato’s lips, and Hakoda always thought Bato tasted like comfort - like home.

♥♥♥

Tilik perched on the outer wall of the abbey, swinging his feet so that his heels lightly kicked against it in time with his heartbeat. The forest around them was beautiful, lush and verdant with venerable looking trees and wild, impenetrable undergrowth. He wasn’t looking at any of it. He stared at his hand - or what was left of it. The two outer fingers of his right hand had been unsalvageable. His palm was healing. The remaining three fingers had been almost untouched. The fire that hit him had been focused, precise, and no less devastating for it. In some ways he was lucky for that. His path to healing was much shorter than Bato’s, who had been subject to painstaking debridement, and was at constant risk of infection. But the sisters said Bato should regain full use of his hand and arm. Tilik had to live with this loss forever.

“Superior is going to have your head on a stick for climbing with that hand.” Aldan called up at him.

“She can’t reach me up here!” He called back, grim thoughts banished at the sight of him.

“That’s what the stick is for, idiot. To reach your insolent ass.”

“I thought it was my head?” He feigned confusion for a second before giving way to laughter. Instead of insisting he come down, Aldan scrambled up beside him, facing the abbey instead of the forest.

The two of them hadn’t crossed paths much before leaving the south pole. On the journey over they had been on the same ship, but taken different watches. Then Aldan had lost repeatedly to Bato in the sparring ring. Tilik wasn’t sure when, exactly, but he had definitely begun to hope that he would never win. By the time they reached the fire lily path, he was almost certain that Aldan only continued trying out of habit. He always returned to their tent with a smile, ready to wrap Tilik up in his big, burly arms, and leech off his body heat overnight. 

“Do you think they’ll ever get their shit together?”

Tilik looked over his shoulder and spotted the chief and his second, walking slowly and wearing what he had begun to think of as their ‘together faces’ - Hakoda’s exasperated, Bato’s pained. He turned back to the forest, smiling ruefully. “If they do, it’ll be an accident. No way they manage it themselves.”

“I’d trust either one of them with my life, but put them together and suddenly they’re as useless as fur on a fish.”

“Have you been fishing at all since we’ve been here?” Aldan was a good fisherman, but they didn’t always get to stick with their skills on the road. Tilik knew he missed it.

“Been looking after you.” He shot Tilik a crooked grin that made his heart stutter.

“You should go. I’m sure the sisters will appreciate your help. Sister Liang told me they don’t get much fresh catch.”

“Maybe I will.” Aldan rested a broad hand on his thigh, secure and comforting. Tilik nearly placed his own over it before realizing with a jolt that it was the disfigured one. He had a sudden urge to hide it away, whether from Aldan’s warm gaze or his own piercing shame, he didn’t know. Catching his pause, Aldan turned slightly to face him. He spotted Tilik’s hovering, incomplete hand and something softened in his face. “It’s okay. Let me see.” When Tilik still hesitated, he leaned close to kiss Tilik’s cheek and murmur, “come on, little nettle, let me hold you.” The pet name worked its magic as always. Tilik let his hand rest in Aldan’s. The other man smiled and lifted it to his lips, brushing another quick kiss onto his bandaged knuckles. “See? Doesn’t sting at all.” He smiled another one of those heart-stopping smiles. And Tilik, powerless to resist (not that he wanted to) smiled back.

♥♥♥

Fire nation soldiers preferred death to capture. Given the choice, and Kuyu gave it as often as he could, they always chose death. He could spend days thinking of reasons why, but the effect was the same - a line of corpses. There was no dignity to be found in death. No real, observable honor. It was up to him to bestow those things. So even as he stripped each soldier of weapons, armor, and clothing, he closed their eyes and mouths. He left their underclothes, too, and quietly asked Agni to hold them in his light. Speaking to Agni was strange for Kuyu. True, the sun in summer barely dipped below the horizon of the south pole, but in winter he could scarcely be found. The water tribes were children of the ocean and moon. Agni was a distant, fickle friend. But to the fire nation he was the closest, the brightest, the most vital. So Kuyu repeated over and over “Agni cleanse them in your light” as he carried body after body to the raft Nakta had helped him lash together. The other warrior worked quietly, covering the fallen with dry brush and lacing sapwood throughout. 

When everything was ready, they waded together into the ocean, guiding the raft out past the sandbars and as far as they could go. The two of them stood, knee deep on the hidden ridge of earth between sea and shore, waiting. Nakta opened the oilskin bag slung over their back. They pulled out a crude boomerang, carved from the same sapwood now adorning the retreating raft. Kuyu produced his spark rocks and lit one end of the almost-weapon. It flared and spat and burned rapidly, but Nakta didn’t rush their stance as they aimed, drew back, and sent the blazing boomerang spinning over the sea. The pyre caught and flared. Neither of them moved. They had to see it through to the end. Tears stung Kuyu’s eyes. Wind stung his face. He resisted the urge to let his shoulders slump and his head bow. He and Nakta had one final duty to the fallen firebenders. So he watched, straight-backed and unflinching as the pyre roared on its raft, drifting slowly out to sea. When the sun finally vanished from the sky and the vigil was complete, Kuyu turned his tired, tear-stained face to Nakta’s.

“Let’s go.” As they waded back to shore Kuyu thought of his wife and two daughters and hoped desperately that they were safe. That this tragedy and darkness would never reach them. Never again. The sound of his thundering pulse and the splash of the waves around their legs nearly drowned the other warrior’s quiet voice when they spoke.

“I miss Sevara.” Nakta had never married, but they and Kuyu’s youngest had been nearly inseparable. She had stayed behind to teach the children, while Nakta had gone to war. Kuyu accepted them as he would anyone his daughter chose to marry, regardless of the details. He respected their sacrifice and felt it as acutely as his own.

“Me, too.” He threw an arm around Nakta’s shoulders and squeezed. As they picked their way back up the beach, shivering in soaked leggings with boots in hand, Kuyu couldn’t tell which of them was leaning harder on the other. He only knew that alone, neither of them would have had the strength for this day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I have recently moved house and have another fic to complete by Nov 1 so I'm posting this as filler to buy myself time.  
> I changed the chapter total to ? because I do not control how this is going. It is really just happening to me and I'm along for the ride.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Found some kids. Gonna have feelings about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am BACK on my BULLSHIT
> 
> Please know that if you have left a comment on this I re-read it four or five times trying to find the motivation to finish this chapter. Thank you so much for that <3 <3 <3
> 
> Also very sorry if anyone was hoping for ice dodging, I am just really not feeling re-hashing things we saw on screen. I struggled enough with the re-union at the abbey.

Two weeks into Bato’s recovery, word came from general Ni of a situation that they could not in good conscience ignore. The fire navy had encroached far enough into earth kingdom waters to begin endangering the caravans of refugees making their way to Ba Sing Se. They needed naval support, and Tilik’s hand was nearly usable again, so the decision was reached that their group would depart the abbey and when Bato was well enough, he would follow.

Last year Bato had watched an entire tribe’s worth of warriors’ hearts break before his eyes. He had thought then that nothing could make him feel worse. Now he watched the last of their backs vanish into the forest and thought bitterly what depths of pain this year would force him to plumb. A better man might have felt grateful to be alive to see it, but there was no good or pleasant feeling left in Bato’s body. Nothing even approaching charitable. He just hurt. His arm hurt, his emotions hurt, the sword in his chest hurt. The sisters helped him back to his room and he barely managed to keep his face until they shut the door. He couldn’t even be grateful to them. The room felt like a cage, a snare tightening around his injured wrist, keeping him isolated. It would be a while before he could be reasonable about it, begin reminding himself that this one wasn’t forever, remember there was hope for the future. But that was just it, wasn’t it? Hope made it messy. Complicated. He had refused to have hope since they had set out on this journey. Since he had left his home. Since Kya died. But Hakoda had whispered it again into his ear, late into the night before he left, the last notes of a final pilfered orange still clinging sweetly to his breath.

“I’ll wait for you.” And Bato had felt the earth tipping beneath him, thoughts tumbling around his head until they uncovered a long-buried spark.

Before he knew it he had asked, “No matter how long it takes?”

“I’ll wait forever, as long as I know you’re coming.”

Bato had clung to him and cried, but not nearly as hard as he cried now, alone in his snare cage room, not knowing when he would see his family again, only knowing it was up to him to close the gap.

It did not take long for him to grow restless enough to insist on helping the sisters with their work. A surprising amount of effort went into each elegant little jar. The stills worked day and night, and there was always something to do. Eventually, he must have looked pitiful enough that sister Liang just sighed and began to show him how to strip the leaves of a particularly pungent plant. She was a talkative woman, chattering fluently about the merits of crushing versus shredding and why many people dry their herbs before extracting the oils - though the abbey didn’t - and how certain ingredients could be so cost-prohibitive to obtain that entire recipes were simply beyond their reach. He let his hands fall into the rhythm of the work and listened with half an ear to her explanation that the perfumes were their main source of support but not the real work of the abbey. It reminded him of home. Of working in a circle of quietly chatting women with Katara on his back and Kya at his side. Back then he had felt like an alien in his own body. They had all assured him it would get better. Then one of the babies would cry, which would set off all the others, and half of them would pause to feed tiny, hungry mouths. He hadn’t realized that he would miss that. Right up until sister Liang paused to squint at him.

“Dear? Are you alright?”

He coughed and looked down at his pile of leaves. “I miss my family.” Bato was spared further explanation by the arrival of Mother Superior and the ensuing debate about rest, occupational therapy, fine motor functions, and of course infection.

“Ma’am please. I can’t just be a drain on your resources-”

“Nonsense, young man. I will not hear another word of that. Healing is what we _do._ It is our sacred purpose.” Bato was so taken aback at being called ‘young man’ at forty-two that he didn’t even try to respond. Sister Liang continued in his stead.

“Work can be healing for the spirit, Superior. What good is healing the body if we let the mind languish for lack of purpose?”

The older woman considered for a second. “Very well. Preparation tasks only.” Then, directly to Bato, “and mind your bandages. They’re due to be changed this evening.” She swept away without another word. For the rest of the day he mingled with the sisters, helping with small, simple tasks and listening to them converse. In the evening he reported to the infirmary where they pronounced his hand out of real danger and re-covered the rest of his healing skin. That night, when the fewest sisters were awake, he slipped quietly out the gate and walked to the beach to clear his head.

It became a habit, a routine for him. Spend the day doing small things for the abbey and letting Sister Liang coax answers out of him about his life, visit the infirmary in the evenings for pain relief or progress checks or dressing changes, then slip out in the dead of night to visit his father’s ship. Until the night he spotted a fire on the beach and an almost familiar voice called “Who’s there!” The figure by the fire was taller and broader in the shoulder, his voice deeper than the last time they had seen each other.

“Sokka?”

“Bato?” It was undeniably his son. And emerging from a sleeping bag beneath what could only be a sky bison-

“Katara?”

“Bato!” They dashed into his arms and for a moment he just held them close, hardly believing they were here, until the inevitable question.

“Is dad here?” and then he had to explain. But a cold wind rolled off the sea, and he decided maybe this wasn’t the best place. As they turned to go, Bato remembered to beckon the little monk to follow. He listened with half an ear to Sokka and Katara’s tales of their travels with Aang. It hardly seemed possible that he could be the avatar. He looked no more than twelve. Hadn’t the last air avatar vanished at the start of the war? But they said they found him in an iceberg, and if he survived that, there was certainly some kind of magic at work. In any case, that wasn’t the real wonder of his arrival. The reappearance of the avatar meant - for anyone willing to hope - the imminent end of a century-old war.

Bato’s hope was still a very fragile thing. Tender, fledgling, unsteady on its legs. Was it strong enough yet to hold that weight? He glanced down at his kids, still held close to his sides, talking animatedly about escaping a banished prince for the umpteenth time, eyes sparkling with excitement. He’d held onto hope for his family, and here they were, practically delivered to his doorstep. That was a good sign. And, he decided, if hope wasn’t going to bear up, he was just going to have to bolster it with work. Ending a war shouldn’t fall solely on the shoulders of one twelve year old monk. The cruelty of the thought nearly made him shudder. But for now, they were with him, in the care of the sisters, and could rest a little while before the real work began.

He introduced Sokka and Katara to Mother Superior as ‘Koda’s children’ - which she accepted with only a slight raise of her eyebrows - and Aang as ‘the avatar.’ But now that Bato had some time to process it, the wonder of his existence was nothing to seeing Sokka and Katara again. Soon they were pestering him for details of stories they likely would never have dared ask Hakoda. He indulged them, falling quickly into his old role as more of a fun uncle than a parent. And he loved it, because he loved them, but found it ill-fitting. Too small. He couldn’t fit everything he felt and wished and, yes, hoped for into that role. Bato wasn’t sure what to make of it when Aang slipped out halfway through his invitation to go with him to see Hakoda. But it did give them the opportunity to talk as a family and, after assuring them with absolute certainty that their father would be proud of their decision to stay with Aang, he took a steadying breath.

“Sokka, Katara, I owe you an apology.”

They looked at him quizzically. “What for?”

“For leaving. You’ve had to do so much for yourselves that you never should have.”

Sokka spoke this time, “but all the men had to leave. That’s not your fault.”

“I mean before.” He spoke quietly. “After your mother-” Bato’s eyes were glued to his daughter as hers filled with tears and she turned her face away bitterly. “I could - I should have been there and I wasn’t. And I’m sorry.” A long silence filled the room before Sokka spoke again.

“I don’t know,” he said, almost to himself, “I remember what it was like before you moved out. You and dad - you were never happy. Not once. Whatever was going on, something wasn’t healing. Like that penguin seal with the injured flipper that it wouldn’t stop preening.” That was a surprisingly apt comparison. When had Sokka gotten so perceptive?

“You’re right. But I still wish there had been a better way. And-” he paused, collecting himself, “and I’d like to be a family again. If you can forgive me.”

Sokka beamed at him like the sun, but Katara still looked away. Her brother glanced at her, then waved nonchalantly. “She’ll come around. Now who’s idea was it-” Ah. There was the boy he remembered. The three of them were back to laughing about old stories when Aang reappeared, acting just as oddly as he had before.

When the food was gone, Bato turned to Sokka and Aang. “Why don’t you boys go wash these up. Katara and I will tidy up in here.” He handed them the dishes, then began putting away the pot and stand while Katara banked the fire. He stayed quiet, knowing she would speak when she was ready.

“It was so hard.” Her voice broke almost immediately. “I had to be everything for us. I know you tried. And I know you were hurt too. But why couldn’t-” she stopped, choking on a sob that cracked Bato’s heart. He sat down beside her and tentatively placed a hand on her back. She surprised him by turning and pressing her face to his good shoulder, letting him gather her into his lap as she cried. Bato rubbed calming circles into his daughter’s back, the way he had when she had woken from nightmares, or hurt herself playing too rough, or wailed in frustration as she struggled to teach herself bending.

“I’m here now.” He murmured, “And this will be over soon, and then we can go home and you’ll never have to be anyone but Katara. I’ll be there to support you however you need me. I promise.”

Katara sniffled into his shirt. “And you and dad will be happy again?”

“We’re going to try, Katara.” That seemed to be good enough for her, because her sniffles and hiccups wound down into steadier breaths, and before he knew it she was asleep on his chest like a baby again. 

The next day, she earned the mark of the barve, just as he had. Sokka, like his father, earned the mark of the wise. Aang earned the mark of the trusted. Bato hoped - and damn if that word didn’t start popping up everywhere - that connecting him to the tribe might help the boy carry the weight of the task ahead of him, give him more hands to lighten the work, or even just the comfort of a surrogate family. Being alone was hard enough. Being alone with no hope of rejoining his people? The thought had kept him up long after he should have slept.

So when Sokka and Katara turned back, away from him and their father, to rejoin Aang on his journey, Bato’s heart swelled with pride in them. He hugged them tightly, and promised to see them soon, and Katara whispered “Bye, dad” almost too softly to hear. For the first time since being skewered to that tree branch weeks and weeks ago, Bato breathed easily. Or easier. There was still a hole in his chest. Blood still pooled in his lungs. Maybe they would be there the rest of his life. But the sword was gone. He no longer felt sliced open at every breath. And the words ‘our kids’ raced joyously around his memory, fanning the little flicker of hope his husband had uncovered. Finally, Bato knew he could go home. There was only the long road ahead, and days upon days of travel to get through first.

♥

Waking up surprised Hakoda. Sure, after enough time even a body under considerable duress would sleep. But it was rare for him to wake peacefully now, without the clenching, gasping panic or the smell of charring skin in his nose. He had taken to sleeping as little as possible, loath to relive the memories that lurked in his subconscious, waiting for him to let his guard down. As if simply reliving them wasn’t torture enough, they had taken to blending together, mixing strangely in a grotesque attempt to discover the most painful combination of memory and imagination. Last time he slept - two days ago? More? - he had staggered into his home to find not one burned body, but four. Kya, as he had found her then; Bato, the way he had fallen from Hakoda’s arms; and Sokka and Katara, faces frozen in hurt and confusion. Nakta had shaken him awake, and though he had spent the rest of the night sandwiched between them and Kuyu, he had been too terrified even to close his eyes.

Not wanting to push his luck with another attempt at sleep, Hakoda sat up, shaking off Kuyu’s heavy arm and moving for the tent flap. For such a stoic old bastard, Kuyu was a surprisingly snuggly sleeper. Hakoda understood now why Nakta took night watch so often. The sun wasn’t up yet. Neither were any of the warriors in camp. He pulled off his boots and waded into the water. It was colder here than near the abbey. More familiar, less inviting. A breeze swept the beach, making him shiver. His mind stayed treacherously blank. Of all the times he had willed it be silent, it had to obey only now, when he needed it alive. The nightmares receded when he didn’t sleep alone. That was something. But the bone-tired cogs spinning sluggishly in his head made sure to remind him that he only ended up next to Kuyu because the older warrior had dragged him by his collar and bullied him into Nakta’s vacant bedroll. Those two were family. He couldn’t imagine asking them to make room for him. Not when all that was wrong with him was trouble sleeping. He would manage.

A hand fell on his shoulder, making him jump. His stomach fluttered, a sensation he quickly squashed. Just because Bato had a habit of doing that -

“Get back in the tent, Chief.” Kuyu’s voice wasn’t quite a growl, but he clearly wasn’t pleased.

“I’m fine.” Hakoda hissed, shaking off Kuyu’s hand for the second time.

“Don’t bullshit me, kid.”

“This isn’t your fucking concern.” The anger wasn’t new. He’d been keeping a lid on it for weeks, knowing none of his crew deserved it. But it bubbled forth now, acid burning his throat.

“What’s your title again?”

“Fuck off.”

“Say it to me.” The growl was gone. Kuyu’s voice was mild, even, with no hint of rancor.

“Chief.” Hakoda spat, with another mouthful of acid.

“And what do you do?”

“Put up with your fucking nonsense, Kuyu.”

“And.”

“Everyone else’s, too.”

“Which makes this my business. It’s everyone’s business. If you’re not-”

“I said-” 

Kuyu cuffed him on the back of the head, hard enough that his jaw clacked shut. He continued in the same mild voice, “if you're not taking care of yourself, we all suffer for it.”

Koh take these stupid men and their stupid logic off his beleagurered hands. “Fuck off,” he mumbled again, “I’m managing.”

“If he comes back and sees this, he’s going to kill you where you stand.” That was true. Perhaps not in the way Kuyu meant it, but if Hakoda’s heart lurched this badly just imagining the look of concern and disappointment on Bato's face, the real thing might actually end him. He let Kuyu drag him back to Nakta’s bedroll, the weight of exhaustion crushing him into the earth. Before he closed his eyes, he poked Kuyu in the shoulder.

“If you ever use him against me like that again, I’m going to drown you.”

“Shut up, kid. I’m not scared of you.”

The second waking was more familiar. Panic ripped through the pit of his stomach and his eyes flew open. No blood chilling images. No memory of the smell of searing skin. Just a viselike hand on his wrist, and Nakta’s icy blue eyes. “You need to see this.”

The best word for what was happening at the edge of camp was a scuffle; intermittent flurries of frantic movement, punctuated by the sound of solid, bruising hits. Warriors arrayed in a circle watched mildly as two blue figures closed on a smaller green one and were rapidly rebuffed. The atmosphere was almost cordial, more like they were passing time than anything.

“Who is that?” Hakoda asked.

“No clue. She hasn’t said a word.”

“So why are they attacking?”

“You want them to let her walk right up to your tent?”

He put on his chief voice again. “Alright you two, that’s enough. Ma’am, would you mind explaining yourself?” The woman turned. He quickly amended his assessment. The girl - she could hardly have been over sixteen - wore warrior’s paint in dramatic red and white, flowing green robes, and minimal plated armor. She sized him up and, judging by the way she folded her arms and pursed her lips, didn’t reach a particularly favorable conclusion. All fifteen seconds of Hakoda’s carefully cultivated patience ran out. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, reminding himself that yelling at random young women was not the right thing to do, no matter how annoying and supercilious they were. Teenagers got like that, and his drastically shortened fuse was not her fault. “Nakta, please escort our guest to the planning tent. I’ll meet you there.”

Back in his own tent, he pulled on his boots, re-tied his wolftail and belt, and tried to scrounge up some spare patience. Ordinarily he could count on Bato’s glacial quiet to crack outsiders. Benefits of having an absolutely maddening husband. But what could Hakoda do to get through to a sixteen year old warrior? He put on his best ‘I’m not mad, I’m just concerned’ face and headed for the planning tent, where Nakta and the girl were eyeing each other like solitary elk-leopards, trying to see who had the best chance before it came to blows. Hakoda thanked the ocean for Nakta’s cool head and ushered them in, tying the tent flaps open to let in the breeze and a few curious stares.

“Alright let’s start with your name, please.”

“Kiya.”

“Thank you, Kiya.” He tried not to sound too surprised that she answered on the first try. “I’m chief Hakoda. How can we help you?”

“You’re assisting refugees.”

“We are, but forgive me, you don’t exactly look like a refugee.”

“I need to get to Chameleon Bay.”

“We are heading that way, but it will take a while. A more direct route would get you there faster.”

“I don’t know if you noticed,” she said drily, “but this isn’t exactly a safe road for a lone warrior.”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes, but couldn’t stop the “No shit” before it left his mouth. “What are you looking for in Chameleon Bay?”

“My sisters, the other Kyoshi warriors. We left our island to take more direct action in the war effort but-” She swallowed hard, her impassive mask slipping just a little, “we got separated.” The frightened girl behind the warrior wrenched at something ancient inside him. Something that had made a home in the minds of men long before there was much of a mind to speak of. It said _This one is small and scared. Make it your kin and keep it safe_. Maybe it was worse for him, having two children close to her age. Maybe anyone would have felt the way he did. He glanced at Nakta, whose brows were furrowed ever so slightly. Hakoda nodded, his mind already made up.

“The runners will be back tomorrow evening at the latest. We sail then. If you wish to accompany us, you’ll be expected to work with us as well. Unfortunately, we are all men, except Nakta, so you’ll be on your own for matters of hygiene. Any questions?”

Kiya looked at Nakta. “Not a man?”

“Not a woman either.” They responded mildly.

“No questions.”

“If you think of any, I’ll be around. Try not to beat anyone up please.”

“Be nice to have sparring again, though.” Nakta muttered.

Hakoda glared. “Who said you couldn’t?” They didn’t meet his eye. He pinched the bridge of his nose again, as if the physical gesture could keep the metaphorical acid at bay. “Tonight's your last night on land. Make the most of it.” He stalked off to find some food.

Kiya did beat up her fair share of warriors in Nakta’s sparring ring. She had graciously agreed to leave her fans and armor, since nobody else used any for friendly bouts. Her swirling green robes obfuscated her movements, and she fought mostly by avoiding attacks and unsettling her partner’s balance. Eventually it was Tilik who pinned her, earning him a grudging bow and somewhat hesitant clasp of the forearm. Watching them, Hakoda realized with another deep pang just how young she was. Tilik was the youngest of his crew - though not the youngest of the men who’d left the south pole - and Kiya had to be at least five years his junior. How old were the other Kyoshi warriors that had come to fight in this endless war? Were they all as young as her? Had it come to that - children fighting the battles of their great-grandparents? Anger, disgust, and shame coiled deep in his gut. They had failed terribly. The tribes, the kingdoms, the armies. They had let the world down. They had failed their children. And their children were everything.

The young warrior tucked herself neatly between him and Nakta around the fire, the hem of her robe overflowing with bread and fruit and jerky. Despite her initial spikiness, she seemed to enjoy the tribe’s company, offering bits of her meal around the same way they did and impressing everyone by tossing three berries in succession across the fire straight into Aldan’s mouth. But as more and more of them left for watch or bed, she drew further into herself, fidgeting quietly with her fingernails.

“Do you have a tent? Or sleeping bag?” He hadn’t seen any personal effects, but there was a certain kind of sense to not walking into an unfamiliar camp carrying everything you own.

She shook her head. “I lost them when I got separated. Everything that wasn’t literally attached to me. And even some of that. The uniform usually has gloves. And shoes.” Kiya extended her hands and feet to the fire, tan skin nearly unrecognizable under what must have been several days worth of dirt. Hakoda hissed through his teeth.

“I don’t think we have boots that will fit you, But Tilik can show you how to do an effective wrap. He’s the one who pinned you earlier.”

“Missing two fingers?”

“That’s him.”

“The stupid thing is, I lost one of each. And it just made more sense to go without than be lopsided.” She smiled halfheartedly and Hakoda’s heart panged again.

“What happened?”

“Got thrown in a river.” She mumbled, not meeting his eye. “It - there were rapids. And by the time I got to a bank-” Her voice cracked and she sniffled.

“We’ll help you find your sisters again. But first you need sleep.” He pointed to his unused tent. “That one’s mine. I haven’t been using it so you’re welcome to it.”

She gave him a slightly damp version of the look she had first leveled at him. “Is that why you look like that?” He tried not to laugh. Really. Seriously. He tried. And it wasn’t like he was laughing at _her_ , just the astounding absurdity of being judged for his looks by a barefoot teenager who had a second ago been on the verge of tears. To his relief, she snickered, too. Probably at him, but that was fine.

“Bedtime, Kiya. Go on.” He pointed again, still chuckling.

“Thanks, chief.”

Kiya had clearly sailed before. She took to the southern ships immediately, scampering around the deck and rigging with a vigor only youth could supply. Kuyu did have boots that would have fit her, but they were fire nation make - recovered from the body of a soldier - and she refused to wear them. The blue foot wraps she had borrowed stood out against the green of her robes, an odd incongruity like her presence on his ship. But the warriors loved her. They spoiled her as much as possible considering their spare lifestyle, and called her ‘little sister’ as often as ‘Kiya’. More than once, Hakoda had to remind her that just because someone offered to do a task for her, it didn’t mean she should let them.

“I know you’re perfectly capable of doing it yourself, Kiya. Don’t give me that.” And she would put on that face again, the one that said she didn’t like what she was seeing, and he would do his best not to laugh. “At least go help the poor idiot.” She always did, after a final, perfunctory pout. But he noticed the same pattern every day as the first evening. When tasks were done and it was time to sleep, she withdrew into herself, often climbing to the top of the sails until long after she should have been resting. One evening he called her down, told the boys astern to take a break, and handed her the rudder. “Alright what is it?”

She glared at him. It was less intimidating without the makeup, but she had a good face for glaring - sharp, angled brows and intense, dark eyes. But Hakoda had a daughter, and was already immune to the glares of teenage girls. When he remained unmoved she sighed. “I miss my sisters.”

“That it?” How did Bato do it? He’d seen the man coax life stories out of people with little more than a look and ‘hm’.

“Well, it’s just - they left me.” Her face didn’t change, but her knuckles went white on the rudder. “I don’t even know if they looked.” His suspicion had been correct. He knew from experience how difficult that feeling was to manage. It left too many doors open for doubt. And doubt always wormed its way in one way or another to make you wonder if it was your fault, if there was something more you could have done, if they ever really did care. “And I - I know if I had just -” There it was. And finally, the mask broke, too. Her sharp face crumpled for just a moment before her free hand flew up to cover it. Hakoda’s heart ached, watching her try to keep her shoulders still and her breath even. As if she didn’t already have enough to worry about, Kiya was still trying her hardest not to be the frightened little girl she had every right to be. He nudged the rudder with a knee, making sure they didn’t veer too far off course.

“I know how you feel, but this is in no way your fault.”

“No you don’t. Everyone always says they do, but how could you?”

“Give you three guesses, Kiya.” He said gently.

In a tiny voice, she eventually huffed out an “oh.”

“Are you still angry with them?”

She didn’t challenge him this time, just shook her head. “Only a little.” Time to think about the flip side, then. If he could take all the guilt and fear and sorrow in his chest and turn it into comfort somehow, he would. The least he could do was try. Because this one was small and sad and scared, and it was his job now to take care of her.

“If they didn’t look, it was because they couldn’t.” On second thought, that made it sound like the other Kyoshi warriors were dead. Good job, Hakoda. “Because it was too dangerous, or they didn’t know how far you had been carried. I can’t say. But leaving you behind will have been the hardest thing they have ever had to do, and I know for a fact they would not have done it if there was any better option.”

“For a fact?” She peeked at him balefully from behind her fingers.

“Three guesses.” There was no keeping the regret out of his voice. Why was everyone so smart? Couldn’t he keep one single thing to himself? Historically, no. He may have been an impulsive dumbass, but he was an impulsive dumbass with his heart on his sleeve. It remained to be seen whether that was a good thing. He nudged the rudder again.

“Who?” Kiya’s quiet question surprised him. He had been expecting her to turn away.

“My… husband.” Spirits how long had it been since he said that aloud? Come to think of it, how long had he been thinking of Bato in those terms again? “Both times.” At least he was reasonably sure Bato was still alive. Kiya’s sisters probably thought she was dead. “They’re going to be so relieved to see you, Kiya.”

“Stop nudging the fucking rudder. I’ve got it.” She sniffled, not even a hint of anger in her voice.

“You so do not. Gimme.” He took it from her slackened grip. 

Kiya wiped her eyes on her sleeves and took a shaky breath. “I guess I should sleep.”

“Tell the boys their break is over. I need sleep, too.”

“I’m beginning to think it’s just your face.”

“Bedtime, young lady. Go on.”

He kept a closer eye on her the nearer they got to Chameleon Bay. Of course the nearer they got, the sooner the day would come when he would have to let her go - send her back into the arms of her sisters, and the jaws of danger. But the more he watched, the more he noticed all the ways she hadn’t fully left childhood, and the worse he felt about it. Every so often, the terrible impulse would arise to turn his ship back, sail her all the way to Kyoshi island, and deposit her back into her parents’ home. Of course he couldn’t. But as they sailed on, doubts popped up, too. What if the other warriors weren’t there? Staying with him would really be no better when it came down to it. What if they hadn’t made it? Or only a few? What if they were all like Kiya? What would he do? What _could_ he do to convince a group of teenage warriors not to do what they felt was right? Nothing at all, really. And that was perhaps the hardest part to handle. Kiya obviously shared at least a few of his fears. Nervous energy practically radiated from her stiffened shoulders and straight back. Once or twice, he caught her looking ahead, as if imagining their destination, a stricken look on her face. 

Then, in a flurry of wire-tight nerves and girlish shrieks of joy, it was over. Hakoda could breathe out. Kiya’s sisters were all accounted for, as he gleaned from their chatter and the lack of any trace of bad news in their faces. They were all about her age but, best news of all, they were acting as stewards at the well hidden customs station. All they had to do was keep an eye on the people waiting for the ferry and watch for telltale black smoke in the distance. That was bearable. He and Nakta stood back, letting her get caught up, making sure she was safe and welcomed. She looked ready to cry again, but the relief was plain in her face. Before the other girls whisked her away, she dashed back to them where they stood watching.

“Thanks. For everything.” Kiya gripped their forearms in the style of their tribe, and smiled only a little shakily.

“Good luck, little sister.” Nakta wished her, eyes shining.

“If you need anything, you and your sisters are always welcome with us.”

She nodded gratefully and dashed away again.

As they made their way back to their own encampment, Hakoda remarked, “that went about as well as we could have hoped,” trying very hard to keep his tone light. 

He could feel Nakta’s eyes on him. “Yeah.”

Once again, he thanked the ocean for their cool head. As much as he might be thinking about a different reunion, he really had no desire to hear it aloud. Not now. Not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is going to have more boning in it, so yay for that!!
> 
> also I am on tungle.org @oliver-perks if you wanna yell at me.


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